


Monks and Children

by privateerwrites



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (But only briefly mentioned) - Freeform, Athos is a dad basically, Fluff, Gen, Sleepy Cuddles, so is Aramis, soft, the musketeers and children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29024718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privateerwrites/pseuds/privateerwrites
Summary: After the events of Fool's Gold, the Musketeers stop in at the Monastery at Douai to visit the children! ft. Soft Athos, d'Art being friendly teased, and me mostly ignoring the prisoners on Athos' horse
Relationships: Aramis & the orphans, Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, Athos & the orphans, D'Artagnan & the orphans
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	Monks and Children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anima Nightmate (faithhope)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithhope/gifts).



> This fic was mostly inspired by a thought that the _incredible _Anima Nightmate had- what if, since they're kind of close together, the Musketeers visited the orphans while riding home from the village in Fool's Gold?__
> 
> _  
> _HUGE thank you to both them and Erengalad for putting up with my questions about logistics and maps!!__  
> 

The horse is jolting Athos in his saddle. Almost anything would, of course, but this particularly does not feel nice. The fact of the three people tied to his horse is also not helping, and they slow the journey back to Paris.  
  
Quiet conversation, while usually normal on these trips, is noticeably absent. The noises of the woods take over what would normally be friendly banter, and Athos spends most of the path thinking about his bed in the garrison.  
  
It's just as they're heading off of the tiny, winding path onto a post road- thank fuck, and actual road- that Aramis gets this look in his eye. His horse is positioned next to Athos, and he's facing ahead, but his eyes say that his brain is a hundred thousand miles away.  
  
"I'm going to take a detour," Aramis says. Athos raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
"And where are you going?"  
  
"I just," Aramis sighs, pauses here for a moment. "I thought it would be nice to see the children." His voice is soft, and it is clear that he thinks that this is something he is not allowed to have, something they will fault him for, something that will anger Porthos or frustrate Athos or confuse d'Artagnan.  
  
To his surprise, Porthos is the first to say something. There is a wide, wide grin on his face.  
  
"I'll bet Marie's missed you, eh?"  
  
Athos groans.  
  
"Aramis. Paris is- the- why-," he breathes deeply, his wounds and general displeasure at the whole of the situation (narrowly avoiding riding through Pinon, having criminals tied to his horse, and being in pain, to name a few) impairing his ability to articulate his thoughts properly. D'Artagnan turns his horse towards the two of them.  
  
"Which way then, Aramis," he asks. Aramis points towards a path that leads off the post road and into the woods. Woods that, now that it has been pointed out, do indeed look rather familiar to Athos.  
  
Porthos and d'Artagnan follow behind Aramis as they head off onto the path and begin to ride, no longer towards Paris, but instead towards Douai.  
  
About a half-hour off the road, Athos has gathered his thoughts enough beyond _pain why hate this want a drink_ to properly articulate his complaints.  
  
"Aramis, why must we visit monks and children?"  
  
"Well, would you rather us turn around and head back, see how things are going in Pinon?"  
  
Athos gives a disgruntled sigh.  
  
"I do suppose children will be a fine distraction," he surrenders. Aramis laughs heartily.  
  
"That's the spirit," he exclaims, and rides to the fore once more.  
  
After another forty-five minutes of miserable riding, they make it up the hill and to the gate of the monastery. Aramis dismounts carefully, reverently, and gazes around as if seeing it for the first time. Porthos places a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in Aramis' ear. Aramis nods, and they head inside.  
  
They greet the monks, who welcome them with little suspicion and an overall much more pleasant demeanor than Athos was expecting, given what had occurred during their last visit. Then again, they are monks.  
  
After a round of pleasantries from Aramis, they tie up the men who had been attached to Athos' horse and leave them in the chapel, under the supervision of a monk. Their horses are placed safely in the stable, and Aramis leads the way up to the nursery.  
  
He knocks a pattern out on the door, a rapid set of three followed by a set of two and then a set of four. There is a delighted shriek from inside, and then a loud shushing noise. The door creaks open, and there, looking out cautiously, is Luke. His face lights up when he sees Aramis, and the door flings open as he wraps his arms around him.  
  
"Hello, love," Aramis says gently, hugging Luke back. He's swarmed by the other children in short order, all vying for their turn to hug him.  
  
Athos and d'Artagnan slip through the door and into the room. D'Artagnan leans his back against a wall and slides to the floor. He settles in, and a child comes to sit on his lap.  
  
"Hello," she says softly. "You're d'Artagnan, aren't you?"  
  
D'Artagnan laughs delightedly, something that brings to mind a much younger boy, one eager to become a Musketeer, as opposed to the one who sits on the ground near Athos now.  
  
"I am," he says, as if sharing a great secret. Athos smiles, watching him talk to her as though he does properly understand the importance of keeping the magic of a fairytale alive for a child.  
  
He feels a small tug at his pant leg, and looks down to see two young boys looking up at him. The older one can't be more than nine, the younger no more than four.  
  
"Hello," he says. They gaze up at him with astonishment in their eyes. "What are your names?"  
  
"I'm Jean-Claude," the older one states proudly. "That's Henri," he adds after a moment. "You're his favorite Musketeer! With all your brave adventures! Can you tell us a story?"  
  
Athos sighs. He did not expect much else. Still, he send up a quiet prayer that Treville will not be too displeased with their lateness in returning to Paris. Treville has grown rather fond of efficient and regular correspondence with the captain of his prize regiment, and Athos knows that Treville will notice that they have been gone longer than is proper without giving notice of some sort. Athos takes a deep breath in.  
  
"Well," he says carefully, thinking. "Have you heard about the women who held court in a library?" The children shake their heads. He smiles a little, at the memory of a woman he could have loved- perhaps did love, once.  
  
In the end, Ninon sounds more like a fairy queen or a princess than she does a human, but the boys are suitably impressed and rather enthralled. He doesn't tell the bad parts, the part where Ninon almost died or the part of the trial- really, he tells them very little of the mission- but he does tell them the beautiful parts, of bravery and love and rescues and escapes. He misses doing this for his little brother, making up stories and telling jokes.  
  
At some point during the tale, Athos sinks to the floor, and Jean-Claude and Henri settle themselves on Athos' lap, and the weight of the children is soothing to his soul, if not his sore legs. Athos, wrapped up in the telling, misses the way Aramis looks at him like a blessed creature. He misses the way Porthos looks at him like he must be glowing and the way d'Artagnan looks at him like he did when they first got to know each other, his eyes full of adoration and wonder.  
  
Eventually, the dinner bell rings and Athos stops telling his story so that the children may go eat.  
  
He nudges them ahead gently, as they look reluctant to leave him. They go, finally, whispering to each other excitedly. He smiles after them fondly, and none of his brothers miss it.  
  
They decide to stay the night, because as much as Athos would love to go straight home, riding in the dark, even on a real road, is rather inadvisable when they are all this tired. There is also the matter of the prisoners, but a quick look into the chapel reveals that they are still there, tied where Aramis left them.  
  
The musketeers are given a room with a pallet, and Aramis immediately offers to take the floor. Porthos chuckles.  
  
"C'mere, Mis," he rumbles. Aramis complies, and as soon as he is within reach, Porthos pulls him into a tight, tight hug.  
  
"You don' have to sleep on the floor," he says. "You don't need to pay- to pay penance, or somethin', just for wanting to see your charges, yeah? Sleep with us, alright?" Aramis nods mutely, and Athos can tell his eyes are shiny with tears. They fall asleep, the four of them, wrapped around each other with Aramis and d'Artagnan in the middle and Porthos and Athos on the ends.  
  
Athos wakes up with d'Artagnan curled into his chest and Aramis' hand on his side. He shrugs off Aramis' errant limb and gently pries d'Artagnan's hand from his shirt. This, of course, causes a chain reaction as Porthos wakes up naturally from the other side. In moments, they are all four awake, and Athos feels a little guilty. It's just barely dawn, and if they leave soon, they might reach Paris before Treville has a search party go to find them and then skin them alive for lateness.  
  
They saddle their horses quietly as the monks begin milling around, and the children slowly start to emerge from the nursery. Marie hugs Porthos for a long time, and they have a very serious looking conversation.  
  
Jean-Claude and Henri wrap themselves around Athos' legs and ask him for another story before he goes. He shakes his head at them gently, and ruffles each of their hair before mounting his horse. Aramis and Luke finish up the discussion they're having, and Athos can hear the, "stay safe, darling," that Aramis issues to Luke as a goodbye even from his position several yards away. D'Artagnan gives the little girl who took a shine to him yesterday a stick that looks a whole lot like a miniature Musketeer's sword.  
  
Soon enough, they are all mounted, and they really must leave. They ride out, two abreast on the little road that leads away from the monastery.  
  
"Well," says d'Artagnan, finally. "I quite enjoyed that."  
  
"You're closer to their age than you are ours, pup," Porthos states, and Aramis chuckles. "Of course you liked them."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"He's not wrong, you know..."  
  
In the end, Athos does get a rather uncomfortably long lecture from the Minister about propriety and politeness and general courtesy. He knows that it mostly stems from a place of concern, and so he grits his teeth and bares it. He reflects that these were much easier to manage slightly buzzed, and he cannot say that wine does not sound more and more enticing the longer he stands there.  
  
He isn't surprised, either, when Aramis shows up to his rooms that night with no warning, and climbs into Athos' bed next to him.  
  
"Porthos is busy," he says, by way of explanation, and Athos accepts that. Sometimes, Aramis needs the company, the reminder that he is cared for and loved, and Athos is glad to provide it.  
  
There is a letter that arrives at the garrison the next week, addressed to "Muskuteir Athos". Inside is a drawing of two small children and a larger figure who wears a large chest plate of armor. They are all sitting together, and they are all smiling.  
  
Athos places it above the cot in the office, where he can see it whenever he likes, but the cadets won't spot it. Aramis smiles knowingly the first time he sees it. Porthos raises an eyebrow. D'Artagnan doesn't notice it, or if he does, never acknowledges it. It is Athos' favorite part of his office. (It makes it feel truly his, in a way that it hadn't before.) And if the drawings keep coming and the wall above his cot is soon full? Well, who’s to tell him no? He is, after all, Athos, Captain of the King’s Musketeers, and it is _his_ office.

**Author's Note:**

> If Tumblr is more your thing, I'm also over there at privateerstudies!


End file.
